Cut him if he stands.
For he is not the strand.
From behind the door.
Is anyone there?
A pain of sorrow.
From tomorrow.
There is no pain.
For the insane.
Take that grain.
And feed the masses.
For they are but lasses.
Lost and beyond feeling.
Numb, in need of healing.
The cut will close a hole.
In a heart of woe.
Feel the wind blow.
Sow.
RGH
12/10/2020
